


What We've Done

by gaymoon



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, GONE GIRL AU, Hux is Not Nice, Kylo is Not Nice, M/M, Manipulation, Mitaka Doesn't Deserve This, Murder, Violence, rating for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymoon/pseuds/gaymoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren imagines discovering a seam across his husband's lovely skull. Then he imagines cracking it open.</p><p>He sees himself unspooling every thought, stretching them out and watching them unravel into something coherent. That’s all it would take to truly know Brendol, to create the type of marriage they’d dreamed of back when the challenge was fun and exciting; their promise not to settle, to keep learning each other until there was not a single piece of that beautiful brain that Kylo did not know intimately. His fingers still, as if those tiny, skittering bugs of thought might suddenly startle and drip out his darling husband’s ears, leave stains on the perfect silk sheets. Brendol glances upwards, watching from his spot on Kylo’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.</p><p>  <em>What have we done to each other?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empty Places

**Author's Note:**

> Embrace your inner wine mom with me. I honestly just loved the book and the movie far too much not to add a Kylux spin to it, because let's face it, this is exactly the sort of thing they would do. Some events/actions will be altered and I'm at least hoping that this fic is coherent enough for those who haven't watched or read the source material to understand it. 
> 
> A big huge thank you to [apprenticekylo](http://www.apprenticekylo.tumblr.com) for being my beta for this chapter and putting up with my excessive use of commas!

_What are you thinking?_

It’s the question that sits heavy in every marriage, for each decision, each change, each sidelong look and eye roll. It’s the question that keeps him awake, brushing his fingers through short copper hair like he might press against a seam, might discover a crack in that lovely skull that sends every thought in it skittering across the floor like cockroaches in the light.

_How are you feeling?_

He sees himself unspooling every piece, stretching them out and watching them unravel into something coherent. That’s all it would take to truly know Brendol, to create the type of marriage they’d dreamed of back when the challenge was fun and exciting; their promise not to settle, to keep learning each other until there was not a single piece of that beautiful brain that Kylo did not know intimately. His fingers still, as if those tiny, skittering bugs of thought might suddenly startle and drip out his darling husband’s ears, leave stains on the perfect silk sheets. Brendol glances upwards, watching from his spot on Kylo’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

_What have we done to each other?_

* * *

“Well, you look like shit.”

Kylo offered up little more than a monosyllable grunt, seating himself at the wooden bar and taking the beer that was so graciously offered to him. Apparently Rey has taken one look at him and decided that he really needs it, and Kylo isn’t exactly quick to turn her down. He sipped at his drink as his eyes roamed over the fine carvings in the wood, then across to the single patron sitting in one of the cozy booths. This was Kylo Ren’s legacy, a small slice of suburban living known as The Bar (really, that was the name; they’d thought they were so clever for that one.)

The move hadn’t been intentional, but with mom suddenly getting sick and with dad gone (big surprise, dad not there when you need him) it had been up to him and Rey to look after her. He’d sold his fancy New York apartment, packed up his fancy New York belongings, and dragged his fancy New York husband all the way down South to the town that Kylo Ren – back then Ben Organa – had grown up in.

Ten years ago it would've been impossible to imagine co-owning anything with Rey. Their relationship as kids had been tense, to say the least. Rey was the precious little girl, the silently accepted favorite of the family, and Ben was the terror of an older brother that pulled her braids and popped the heads off her dolls. Then there’d been the family splitting divorce, the name change, the move to New York; all things that very well could have ended their familial relationship.

They’d mellowed out over the years though, or at least Kylo had; the occasional tense Facebook message eventually turning to weekly calls and semi-annual visits, and Kylo had discovered how much easier it was to like Rey when he wasn’t too busy pulling the ‘teenage rebellion’ card to notice her. Looking at Rey now it wasn’t hard to see why the young him had been so bitter towards her. Even while wearing a t-shirt and holding her hair up in some messy bun, it was easy to tell who the pretty sibling was. Her brown eyes sparkled like river stones and her smile alone was enough to attract a crowd; if Kylo had stuck around for her high school years he no doubt would have been beating boys off her with any implement he could get his hands on. Rey had apparently been more than capable enough to carry that gauntlet herself, if the stories were to be believed. She always seemed to know what he was thinking, and today’s topic was one she knew all too well.

“Sooooo…” she trailed for a long moment, scrubbing a stubborn spot on one of the glasses. She always did that when asking a question and Brendol hated it. Kylo was almost sure she spent even longer on the ‘o’ whenever the two were in the same room just to annoy him. “What’s wrong today?” 

“It’s the same as it is every day.”

“That’s what you get for marrying the guy you got into a fistfight with on your first date.”

“I keep telling you it wasn’t – ”

“Yeah, because your black eye was definitely just a hickey.” 

“Maybe I’m into that, you can’t judge me in my own bar.”

Rey wrinkled her nose with a grin, snapping him with the damp end of her rag. Complaining to Rey about his dear darling husband was nice considering the fact that she and Brendol just barely tolerated each other. When they’d first moved down Kylo had almost hoped they’d just accept they would never see eye to eye and leave each other be. Now, though? Well, now it was just nice to know that someone would always agree that he was the crazy one and Kylo was totally justified all the time.

Okay, she wouldn’t be his sister if she automatically took his side all the time, but still.

“It’s our anniversary today.” Kylo finally admitted with another long sip of beer. “Five whole years.”

It was almost hard to believe that he’d spent five years of his life married. Kylo and Brendol Hux-Ren, together forever or something. The joke was that anyone who spent more than five minutes in the same room as the couple became thoroughly convinced the divorce papers were going to be served any day now. People assumed they were stuck together, that a mortgage or a pre-nup or a child meant they couldn’t get away from each other no matter how much they wanted to. They were wrong about that, or at least Kylo wanted to believe that they were.

Nothing with Brendol had ever been simple or easy, even back in New York, back when they’d both had steady jobs, there was still an edge to every move he made. Back then everything they’d done have been loud or violent or fun. One friend joked at their wedding that he was never really sure if they were going to kiss or punch each other. Maybe it was dysfunctional and maybe they weren’t supposed to love each other the same way gunpowder loves a lit match, but it worked for them.

Sort of.

“Wow, seriously? I can’t believe it’s already been that long, is he doing that scavenger hunt thing again this year?” Rey questioned with a raised eyebrow.  
Right, the yearly treasure hunt. It was the one tradition that Brendol had picked up from his parents; apparently it was something that his father still did for his mother every year for their anniversary. Seven clues, riddles centered on every tiny little detail of their life together that Kylo was expected to know at the drop of a hat. Last year the present at the end had been the house key Brendol swiped from his keychain. Too bad Kylo never gotten past question number 3 and ended up on Rey’s couch for the night.  
Rey seemed to remember this just as clearly as she moved to refill his glass; definitely one plus side to owning a bar. “So what is it for five, not jewelry, right?”

“Wood,” Kylo clarified, shaking his head dismissively. “there are _no_ good presents for wood.” Brendol would find one, he was sure of it. Brendol always managed to find a present that was just nice enough to make him feel guilty. It was his husband’s way of getting back at him, almost like he specifically spent all his time looking for a gift that just screamed _see how much more thoughtful I am? See how much effort I’m putting into making this work? What are you doing to help out?_

Kylo was going to run home and smack him in the head with his dick, how’s that for wood?

“What about pencils? He’s getting back into writing so you could get him a fancy set of them, monogrammed or something,” Rey offered. If she was going to be better at this than him then the least she could do was go on the damn scavenger hunt for him too.

Again he shook his head, mulling over all the different ways Brendol could hate him for that. “He’ll see that as me passive-aggressively telling him to get a job.”

Money, the root of all arguments. Brendol had grown up a trust fund baby, the only child of two wildly famous authors who just so happened to run out of money right after they’d both gotten laid off. Everything that had been left over after that had gone into The Bar. They hadn’t even bought a house, instead choosing to rent out one of the abandoned McMansions that had lost its original owners in the recession. Another silent way for Brendol to antagonize him.

He had never cared for Kylo’s hometown or his family, never asked questions about them, didn’t even bat an eye when Kylo honestly considered not inviting any of them to the wedding. For a while he’d thought it was because Brendol wanted to be respectful about it, and maybe that was part of the case, but really Brendol was just a New Yorker through and through. He lived for smog-blanketed skyscrapers and easy access to anything and everything. The small town life hadn’t even occurred to him as an option before Kylo suggested the move, and even then that had been an argument all its own. The rental was a compromise, because that’s what marriage was, compromise over everything; this was supposed to be temporary, something they could just pack up and get away from any day they felt like it. Now here they were two years later, still just as suburban as they’d been from the first day they moved in.

He was shocked out of his thoughts by the noisy ring of the bar’s phone, Rey snatching the receiver up before he could move. “Hey, Uncle Chewie! … Yeah, he’s here, one second.” She handed the phone over to him, barely repressing an eye roll at the way his nose crinkled in disgust.

‘Chewie’ was an old friend of dad’s, a seven foot tall bear of a man with a nearly unintelligible accent that dad had somehow picked up during one of his many travels. He’d been around about as long as Kylo had been alive and just so happened to be the epitome of a nosy neighbor, always coming into the bar or staking out Kylo’s home for any minor problem. Kylo was almost certain he did it just to be a pain in the ass, some sick sort of revenge for all the years Kylo spent either resenting or flat out ignoring his father. If he had a real name Kylo sure as hell didn’t know it. The man had been Chewie for so long that Kylo wasn’t exactly sure if he’d ever had a name outside of that.

Today’s trouble seemed to be the front door; apparently it had been left sitting wide open and now the cat was out in the yard. Millicent was an indoor cat, a fat and lazy terror that got her kicks yowling at the mailman whenever he stopped by her window. She was also Brendol’s favorite thing in the world and Kylo just knew he’d never hear the end of it if she was left to wander the neighborhood with the rest of those common folk for more than ten minutes.

With a repressed sigh and a promise to look into it, Kylo slid off his bar stool, finishing off the last of his beer with a quick gulp. “I should be heading back anyways, wish me luck.”

“Try not to die,” Rey offered helpfully, laughing to herself when Kylo’s only reply was a middle finger.

* * *

##### JOURNAL ENTRY

_I met a boy._

_I know what you might be thinking. There’s so many more significant events going on in my life right now that meeting a boy can’t possibly be the most important thing that has happened to me recently. Unfortunately, tabloid journalism and advice columns aren’t the pulse-racing professions that they used to be. Besides, if there was really nothing noteworthy about this boy I wouldn’t even bother mentioning him, now, would I?_

_It all started at a party. The winter wind still has enough bite to it to turn the sidewalks into cola slush despite the fact that the holiday season is already over. A new friend of mine invited me over to it, an Irene Something, the overly friendly type that tends to gravitate towards me like I’m some sort of expensive handbag to accessorize with. Either way the friendship is still too new for me to turn her down outright; besides, she’d promised there would be free booze and my own apartment is still terrifyingly short on whiskey. She spends the entire cab ride over talking up the host, pressing her elbow into my side and offering winks of encouragement like I’m just too shy to date and she is doing me a great favor by inviting me up to this man’s apartment to drink his liquor and mingle with his friends._

_The apartment itself is cozy, heat blasting to shake away any remnants of the chill that hangs over the city outside, cigarette smoke hovering heavy in the air as people – writers – of all kinds mingle casually. That’s when I first lay eyes on him. Or is it more accurate to say that he lays his eyes on me?_

_I’m standing against one of the walls, sipping away at what is quickly becoming the last of the vodka in the apartment and trying not to look like the lost new kid during their first day of school when he approaches, the smile on his face all too smug and all too fitting for my liking._

_He has the type of face that might be grotesque if the spacing was even a centimeter bigger or smaller, all long features and sharp edges that somehow managed to come together just right. Long ears peek out from behind a mop of long black hair, the type you want to run your fingers through just to see if it’s really as soft as it looks; everything about him, from the dark earthy brown of his eyes to the small upward quirk of his long lips speaks volumes. And honestly I still can’t tell if I’m enjoying what I’m reading or not. I wonder what he looked like in high school, if the other children bullied him before he had a chance to grow into his ears and that chin and those lips._

_He introduces himself (Kylo Ren, what kind of a name is that?), and drops some line that has me rolling my eyes and snapping back on instinct. The way he fumbles over his words is cute in a way I can’t believe I enjoy. He asks me if I want to get out of here; I turn him down. The flash of dejection on his face is another small thing I kick myself for enjoying. He asks if I’m the type who prefers tortured artists or self-important Ivy Leaguers. I laugh; he seems to like that. Kylo Ren is somehow both confident and nervous, a mix of entitlement, of wanting to claim himself a prize, and uncertainty, like at any moment I could turn my words into vipers and strike him down. He’s funny in the same way that I’m funny, and by that I of course mean that his sense of humor is bone dry and centers mostly around mocking others._

_I learn that he writes for a magazine, something to do with pop culture that he essentially confirms is about as soul sucking as it sounds. He tells me he’s writing a book, then follows it by “but who here isn’t?” I laugh again. He refills my drink for me and I turn down Irene when she tries to introduce me to the host. He’s cleverer than he comes off as with his almost entirely black attire and his stupid name. At the very least he’s clever enough to follow me when I tell him I’m leaving for a smoke break. The way he trails behind me like a lost puppy is endearing and infuriating at the same time; but that, as I’ve recently discovered, is what Kylo Ren does best. Infuriates me in a way that makes me want to rip all of his clothes off._

_It occurs to me as we walk down the ice-slick sidewalks of late night New York that this has got to be his angle, this must be what he’s good at. Writers are shockingly adept at making things up after all; how hard could it be to pretend like you’re someone else? The thought immediately makes me bitter, all that much colder to his presence a few steps behind me._

_Now this is where it gets interesting – where he gets interesting. Somehow we’ve ended up outside my apartment complex, he’s walked me the whole way home through the late winter slush and now we stand, stuck in the crossroads between safe disappointment and real danger. I again imagine running my fingers through that thick black hair, but instead I merely accept the thin slip of paper with his name and number scrawled across it in heavy handwriting. I ask him what makes him think I’d even be interested in someone like him, some creep who follows men home from parties expecting to get anything out of it. This time he laughs, a nervous, light sound that has me imagining Sunday breakfasts and lazy afternoons tangled up in the sheets. I tell myself it’s the alcohol talking. I tell myself plenty of things to rationalize everything I’ve felt towards him._

_Then I tell him goodnight and turn to make my way into the lobby; two steps, each one tinged with just the slightest bit of disappointment, two steps is as far as I get before he’s spinning me around and crashing those too big, too beautiful lips against mine._

_And then we’re kissing, and he’s holding me like he might shatter into a million porcelain pieces if he ever lets go and I, well, I certainly don’t have any complaints. Somehow my fingers end up in his hair, it’s not the same while wearing gloves but I can still confirm that his hair is extremely soft. He tastes like cheap vodka and coffee beans and something indescribable. I can’t get enough._

_It might be a second, it might be a year, but eventually he pulls away, the hold on my arm and side loosening from their vice grip into something a little more tolerable. He smiles, grin lopsided and far too big for him, and tells me that he’ll see me soon. I punch him in the face._

_Kylo Ren reels back, slips on a patch of ice, and hits the ground._

_I text him the next morning. We’ve got a date set up for this weekend. Irene may actually be a friend worth keeping after all._

* * *

Fifteen minutes. That was all it took to get from The Bar to the too large and too empty place that they had called home for the past two years. Brendol had hated the house on principle, of course. They’d spent more than enough time together mocking the people who bought up houses on the riverside. Brendol had said that an extravagant house was the easiest way to know someone was overcompensating, either emotionally or physically. He’d said they definitely didn’t need to worry about that. Then they’d had sex on the couch in their perfectly sized apartment.

“Should I remove my soul before stepping inside?” he’d asked with that disgusted sneer he wore far too often, hating the big white house and the garishly red flowers in the yard and the tiny little town that he was suddenly confined to. Maybe he hated Kylo, too; some days it wasn’t all that hard to believe.

When Kylo pulled into the driveway he noticed Chewie had actually been right for once. The front door stood wide open, baring its insides to the elements in a way that left the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Millicent sat out on the front steps, looking just as smug and just as orange as usual. He pulled the fat old girl into his arms, the bell on her collar jingling with every step, and brought her back inside where she belonged. “Brendol?” he called, nudging the cat out of the way as he closed the door behind him. Brendol Ren-Hux did not forget to close the door, Brendol Ren-Hux didn’t forget anything; birthdays, celebrations, grocery lists, he had it all perfectly stored away inside his little ginger head.

A tea kettle whistled shrilly from the kitchen, shrieks against silence, drawing him in with another, louder call of “Brendol?” on his lips. Still nothing, not a single sound outside the tap, tap, tap of his shoes against the wood. He moved upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, catching sight of the abandoned ironing board that sat out in the hall. A white dress shirt sat out next to an iron that burned him when he reached for it, only one side pressed free of wrinkles. He cursed, flinging the bedroom door open as if Brendol would be there waiting for him, ready to explain whatever game he had thought up now.

Empty. Just like the rest of the house. 

Back down the stairs, back towards the kettle that had nearly run out of water to boil. Millicent followed dutifully behind, all too smug for a cat whose owner was nowhere to be found. This wasn’t funny anymore. He’d stopped laughing way too long ago for this to be funny. The minute – the second he found Brendol he was going to – going to –

He froze. Time froze. The whole world ceased to spin for a fraction of a second as Kylo took in the chaos of the living room. Shards of glass glinted dully across the rug, scattered by the breaking of the coffee table. Armchairs lay tipped on their sides like forgotten toy soldiers, kicked into corners and left with deep scars in the wood. Even the ottoman, heavy and dark and too much work to lift alone, had been tipped on its back, four short legs sticking up in the air like a dead insect. Brendol was not there.

Brendol was gone.

* * *

Removing himself from the kitchen in order to open the door felt almost impossible, as if the entire scene might suddenly disappear the moment Kylo stopped looking at it. The bell would buzz, he’d let in another pair of officers, and then Brendol would be standing in the middle of the disaster with a story to tell. That was what Brendol did best after all, tell stories that made Kylo look like the village idiot; shame he couldn’t turn that into a profession or they’d be rolling in cash.

He got the door, a woman who introduced herself as Detective Phasma stepped inside, and the battered corpse of what had once been their living room stayed put. 

Her blonde hair was chopped short, an unreadable and no nonsense look on her face the only expression she offered with her handshake. There wasn’t a wrinkle or stain to be found on her and by the anxious way the police officer behind her shuffled his feet anytime she glanced in his direction, it was safe to assume that she must be a terror to work under. 

Brendol would have loved to meet her. 

“We understand there are concerns about your husband-“She cut off as he led her towards the scene, pale blue eyes scanning over every inch of shattered glass and scored wood. 

“I have no idea where he is and I came home to… this.” He gestured towards the destruction with one hand, as if there were a chance she might have missed it the first time. Brendol was fine, had to be, he’d never been less than ten steps ahead of everyone for the entirety of his life; but it was still better to call someone right? Just in case?

Either way they were definitely here now, pawing through his things and checking the closets like Kylo might have just missed him the first time. 

“So how long have you two lived here?” She questioned, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves as she made her way upstairs. 

“Two years, we moved from New York.” Small talk, that had to be a good sign, people didn’t engage in small talk if there was something seriously wrong. 

“City? Why move out here?” 

“Family.” 

“You both work?”

“I do. I own The Bar with my sister.”

“The Bar. Huh.” She wasn’t very impressed with the name either. Brendol would have really loved her.

Detective Phasma worked her way through every inch of the house, pausing only when she reached the half-finished project still sitting out on the board. Brendol didn’t leave things half finished, he made itineraries that scheduled out his entire month; he had an entire calendar filled with dates to be remembered a year in advance. He wouldn’t have just left the door open, he wouldn’t have left a shirt laying out to wrinkle, and he wouldn’t have just… left. 

“Special occasion?” Phasma questioned with an arched brow.

“It’s our anniversary today.” Something about the way both officers look at him when he says that puts him automatically on edge. “Five years.” They pretend not to twitch, he pretends not to notice. 

Phasma turns back to the ironing board, sticking a plain post-it note up on the wall. So it was a real investigation then, they were actually going to start asking questions, canvasing the neighborhood, and trying to figure out how someone can just disappear from the middle of suburbia with little more than a smashed coffee table to prove something might have gone wrong. 

A search of the rest of the upper floor revealed nothing more than Millicent sunning herself in their bedroom, the fat orange menace curled up on Hux’s side of the bed and purring contently. He shouldn’t have been angry about that, it wasn’t Millicent’s fault for being too stupid to understand what was going on. Hell, Kylo himself couldn’t be sure what exactly the detective was looking for as she scanned over every last visible detail in the room. 

Back down the stairs they went, a tiny procession with Phasma at its head as she moved into the kitchen, heading towards the space that had been designated as Brendol’s office when they first moved. Why had he needed an office in the first place when he didn’t have a job? Well, Brendol wasn’t about to admit to needing his own, too tidy version of a man cave, and calling it an ‘office’ made it sound like he was actually going to do some writing in there. 

Kylo had been the one that dragged him down to the middle of nowhere, the least he could do was allow Brendol his own little corner of the world; that was their _compromise_. God, he hated that word. 

Phasma stopped short, investigating the finely framed portrait that hung up in the corner of the room. It had meant to be an inside joke, the type they had made so easily back in the beginning; a little mean but just absurd enough to make it funny. Instead the name just felt bitter on his tongue, like the acrid burn of cheap whiskey near the back of his throat. It was something they would have laughed at three years ago, he would have bowed his head dramatically and clasped his hands in mock prayer to the Money Gods while Brendol turned red trying not to laugh. A small piece of the house dedicated to the smiling, boyish face of Brilliant Brendol. It had been a going away present from Mr. and Mrs. Hux, a few photos contrasting the cartoony illustrations that had accompanied each book throughout the years. They’d jokingly called it “The Shrine” when it had first been put up. 

“I remember these books.” Phasma hummed, picking up one of the picture frames. A young Brendol stood, stone faced in his pristinely white fencing uniform; his helmet rested under one arm, his foil glimmering dully in the other. On the other side Brendol stood, a wide grin on his face as he advanced on an unseen opponent. “Your husband is Brilliant Brendol?” 

Unfortunately. 

It’s the first word that pops into his mind, ‘unfortunately’. He doesn’t say it out loud, instead he nodded his head and forced a smile. They both twitch again. He pretends not to notice. 

* * *

##### JOURNAL ENTRY

_Brilliant Brendol ; the bane of my existence. _

_It’s difficult to imagine him as little other than my older, smarter sibling; an omnipresent shadow that has always seemed to be just one step ahead of me. Brendol excelled when I needed tutoring. Brendol mastered the violin and became captain of the fencing team when I quit three and five years in, respectively. Brendol grew up to marry a beautiful woman. The fact that my father has managed to stab at the fact that I am both unwed and gay in one children’s book is almost impressive. _

_Today it’s all about Brendol, 25 years of him if we’re being exact. The banquet hall is the nicest thing the publishing company can afford when only a few thousand copies actually ended up preordered. Apparently the world is finally as sick of my alter ego as I am; all it took was aging him out of his boyhood fantasies while somehow retaining the child friendly language. It’s just so hard when your soon-to-be wife refers to you as a “stubborn grumpy pants” on your wedding day. Truly this is a series that was meant to exist as nothing more than nostalgia fodder for children who grew up hearing about my nonexistent exploits. _

_I can only imagine this must be what it’s like to exist as the middle child, my parents didn’t wish to actually raise another son so they had to make up one that better aligned himself with what they deemed ‘realistic’ goals._

_It seems that for every misstep I’ve made, Brendol has been there, sharing my face and my name, and telling me how I could have done things right. I can only imagine the field day my alter ego would have had telling me what a mistake law school was if my father wasn’t determined to wipe that decision, and the nuclear fallout that followed it, from the face of the earth. _

_Thank God I got that masters in English, the world would surely be so much worse off without me here to fill the blank pages of magazines with vapid fluff pieces every middle aged suburban mother is clamoring over._

_I know it’s immature of me to shift blame onto the personification of my father’s lofty expectations instead of the writer himself, but when I’m standing in the middle of a fake wedding reception with a glass of champagne in hand and a nosy trio of half interested reporters on either side of me, I can’t help but decide that if he were real, I would absolutely strangle Brilliant fucking Brendol._

_He has served the Hux family well however; he paid for my childhood, the home I grew up in, even my brief affair with law school that ended just as disastrously as my father had predicted. He’d never been a fan of lawyers he’d said, had no patience for men who spent their lives looking to bend rules for their own gain. Brendol had, of course, chosen correctly the first time. One more book that didn’t quite meet the projected sales, the fact that my father has insisted on beating this decomposing corpse of a series until it’s finished spitting out every last dollar has got to say something about his attachment to me as his only son and how he yearns for the days when I was just a chubby cheeked little boy who didn’t like playing the violin. _

_It could also be that he just isn’t original enough to come up with any ideas that don’t involve plagiarizing my childhood, but like I said, it’s the piece of plagiarism that put me through college._

_My parents are mingling with an intensity that would put any housewife to shame, my father snapping his fingers at waiters with trays full of wine as my mother shakes hand after hand and smiles all too wide. His hand rests just at the small of her back, the two of them so in sync that if they weren’t my parents I may very well hate them for somehow managing to be so disgustingly happy for so many years. That’s who they are though; father is happy, mother is happy, and now? Now the character that shares my name and my likeness is celebrating his own happiness. It’s Brilliant Brendol’s Big Day and I get to spend it tossing back whiskey like the open bar is about to close and answering the same set of questions asked a hundred different ways._

_Yes, Brendol is based loosely off of actual events in my childhood. _

_No, it doesn’t bother me that Brendol made it down the aisle before I did. He’s always been one step ahead of everything I do._

_Yes, I am currently unmarried._

_Wash, rinse, and repeat ad nauseam. Apparently I’m not the only one just here for the free drinks._

_There is however, one saving grace that prevents me from jumping out a window just to escape the forced pleasantries; and his name is Kylo Ren. It’s still a stupid name of course, but I won’t deny that it’s grown on me this past year and a half. I also know it’s been a year and a half because, apparently, six-month-anniversaries are a “thing” to him._

_Miraculously, he’s tipsier than I am halfway through the reception, it’s honestly a testament to the event itself considering the fact that Kylo Ren has always been very vocal about his hatred of wine; of course, Kylo Ren is very vocal about his hatred of everything. If there is one thing I’ve discovered about Kylo in the near two years I’ve spent dating him, it’s that he is a fan of making the biggest scene possible; in public or in private, happy or angry, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he’s got the attention of the room. It’s charming in the same way that a train crash is charming, it’s something you can’t manage to tear your eyes away from, no matter how hard you try._

_So I really shouldn’t be surprised when my date steps up onto a chair in the middle of my father’s book reception and taps his glass of Champagne with a fork until every single pair of eyes are on him._

_“Brendol.”_

_He says my name like it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the only word he’ll ever want to speak again. Now every single pair of eyes are on me. I’m half tempted to throw my glass at his head just to get him off the damn chair and end whatever embarrassment he’s about to subject me to on this night that has already been such a joy._

_Instead he just… Talks. He tells me that he’s never met a single person like me in the world, someone who could make him so furious and so happy at the same time. He gets dramatic at one point, as is expected from a man who stands on a chair to confess his undying devotion._

_I spend the entire speech waiting for the punchline that never comes, instead, at the end of this well-rehearsed little production he (finally) steps off the chair, gets down on one knee, and in the audience of a few hundred people, asks me to marry him._

_Brendol can eat it. My proposal was better than his. _

_Also, I said yes. Probably important to make a note of that._

* * *

Phasma moved him down to the station for their interview, maybe she just preferred hanging out in some old board room that stank of stale coffee and printer ink. Kylo suddenly felt all too much like he’d been returned to his teenage years, picking away at scores etched into the faded wooden table with his fingernail while the officers phoned his mother again. What was it this time? Who had Ben Organa hurt in a fit of rage now? 

He let out a sigh, sipping away at the watery coffee that one of the other officers had offered him after they swabbed his cheek and hands. “Just to cover all the bases, knock you out as a suspect right away.” The guy had promised, like it wasn’t always the husband that did it. 

That was what they were all thinking; it was always the husband, look at the husband, that guy was always guilty. 

“You mind if I record this? Just so you don’t have to answer the same couple of questions a hundred times.” She said it like she was doing him a favor, like she was his buddy instead of the detective that was supposed to be out there finding his husband. 

“Yeah fine, shouldn’t we be out doing something though? I mean if he’s really gone we should be looking for him.” He shouldn’t have been the one telling a detective how to do her job, but apparently that was the only way anything was going to get done. Phasma did not seem to appreciate his input. 

“Normally we wouldn’t even consider this a missing person’s case so early, but given the state of your house we want to get as much as we can as soon as possible. If you tell us about Brendol we may be able to figure out where he might have gone or who could have last seen him.” He really needed to stop antagonizing the police officers. 

“So Kylo,” She began, placing a thin silver tape recorder down on the table. “You’ve been living here together for how long?” 

“Almost two years.”

“And you said you moved down for family matters?”

“Yeah, my mom got sick. She died last year.” 

There’s a flash of pity across those icy blue eyes, it’s gone just about as quickly as it appears. “You and Brendol used to live in New York City. Did he have a job there?”

“Yeah, he used to write for a couple papers. He talked a lot about going back to law school though.” Brendol talked about a lot of things that he would never get to do now that they had almost nothing to their name. 

“He went to law school?” Phasma asked, interest finally piqued. 

“Columbia, he went for about a year and a half then got a masters in Journalism instead.” The one thing in his life that Brendol had never finished, Kylo had heard the story enough times by now that he knew he couldn’t really blame Brendol for that. It had been plenty of fun to use during arguments though, the one piece of leverage that Kylo had over his perfect husband. “Too bad nobody reads the newspaper anymore huh?” 

Brendol refused to lower himself into what he called ‘the lowest dregs of journalism’ and get a job on some site. It didn’t matter if he could have helped pay the bills with Buzzfeed articles, he’d much rather keep his integrity as a writer who hated writing than sell himself out. Besides, it kept money just tight enough that Kylo always felt like he wasn’t doing enough to provide, it was something they could have fought about if they still had the energy to fight. No, much better to have Brendol silently send him withering glares from over the coffee table as he worked through a new stack of bills. 

“Well what about now? Any work buddies we should talk to?”

“No, he mostly stays home right now.” The idea that Brendol had anyone in his life other than Millicent that he might refer to as a ‘buddy’ was the real joke. Brendol had a bad habit of collecting people instead of befriending them, turning them into personal projects that he might improve upon if he put in the right amount hours. Like his fixer-upper husband, for example. 

“So, what does he do most days?” 

Kylo probably could have asked her the same exact question. Brendol existed to be more than everyone else; he spent months taking secret lessons just so he could learn to speak Russian of all things. He didn’t need it, he’d never use it, but it dazzled people when he could break out into fluent Russian like it was the easiest thing in the world. Of course Brendol Hux would be a master chef, an excellent chess player, and a fluent speaker of Russian; everything he did was done right and done the first time. People had both adored and despised him back in New York, he was Brendol Ren-Hux, the brilliant man who was good at everything. 

That had always been one of his reasons for hating the move, Brendol thrived on competition and suddenly he’d been dropped in the middle of some stagnant suburban town where the men spent weekly poker nights gambling with fake chips and the woman had long ago settled for their balding, beer bellied husbands and their pack of sticky, squealing children. They laughed about how little of high school Spanish they remembered while Mike and Tim and Greg sat around sipping lukewarm beers and watching unseasoned chicken breasts blacken on some rusty grill. 

They took the word of his master’s degree and his skill with little more than acceptance, a nod and a smile and maybe even just the slightest bit of pity. Standing in a room without commanding the respect of everyone inside it might as well be a nightmare come to life for Brendol.

“He has a lot of hobbies.” He said instead. 

“Anything you might be worried about? I know with some people in town that 5 p.m. glass of wine just keeps coming earlier and earlier. Maybe he’d been taking the edge off with a little…” Drugs. She wanted to know if Brendol was addicted to something, something that would have gotten him in enough trouble that whoever he owed money to might want to break into the house and grab him for ransom. He almost wished Brendol would be that predictable, that human, for once in his life. 

“Definitely not, he likes a glass of whiskey or wine at night but never anything like that.” This obviously wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have any friends we might be able to ask? Sometimes with a situation like this the spouse is the last person to know and we just want to make sure we’ve covered everything. There are plenty of people out there who have fallen on hard times and started looking for less than healthy ways to cope.” 

It struck Kylo then, he honestly didn’t know if his husband had any friends. Even back in New York Brendol had cycled through friendships on a monthly basis, every fun and interesting person he’d met was replaced just as quickly with someone who was more fun and more interesting, the old ones discarded and forgotten about like half eaten candy bars. “He’s got a couple good friends,” a Jessica or a James or something similar. “most of them are up north though.” 

“His parents up north too?” 

“New York City.”

“And you still haven’t called them yet?” Her tone was sharp, almost accusatory, like the in-laws were supposed to be the first people he called instead of the police. Kylo could feel his blood starting to boil under her gaze. 

“I’ve been busy doing everything else you people have been asking of me.” It comes out too sharp, just a little more frustrated and bitter than it should. He’s never done well with authority figures before and now doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a miraculous change. 

Phasma took a long breath, settling herself, and swallowing another mouthful of coffee before she continued, gears switching with much more eloquence than Kylo could have managed. “So you left the house around 7:30 this morning, you got to The Bar around noon, and in between you were down at Smoke Lake. Did you talk to anyone while you were down there?” 

It was an old and dirty lake, barely more than a pond with a moldy rope swing hanging over it, but it was quiet and it was the one place in the world where Kylo had almost always felt at ease. It hadn’t been a planned stop but when Brendol had all but exiled him from the house that morning he hadn’t been able to think of any better place to sit and stew over his anger. “I don’t exactly go for the company.” Uncooperative Ben all over again. 

Phasma moved up from her chair, collecting a manila folder that had to be the case files, _Brendol’s case files_. “Alright, we’ve got the forensics guys working on your house and car at the moment, we’ve also got the home phone tapped in case any ransom calls come in and there are officers canvasing the area as we speak. We’re taking this very seriously mister Ren.” 

Right, because Brendol was missing, his husband was missing and they were taking it so fucking seriously that they’d spent the last twenty minutes questioning him instead of really looking. 

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” Phasma questioned, collecting her tape recorder from the table.

“Yeah, I can stay with my sister.” Another anniversary on Rey’s couch. 

“Alright one more thing and then you’re free, can you tell us Brendol’s blood type?”

Shit. “AB?” He guessed. 

“You don’t know your own husband’s blood type?” There is was again, that accusatory tone, he was the bad husband all over again. Kylo grit his teeth, placing his paper coffee cup down on the table so he didn’t accidentally crush it in his fingers. 

“Go call his parents, they should be down here for the press release we’re setting up tomorrow morning. The sooner we get Brendol’s face out there the sooner we can bring him home.” 

Kylo stood without another word to the detective, moving over to the landline she’d pointed to him. This was one conversation he wouldn’t mind putting off forever. How did you call someone up and tell them that you’d lost their son? 

It was almost midnight by now, the Hux family would be fast asleep when Kylo woke them the shrill ring of their home phone. This would be one more reason for Brendol Sr. to dislike him, the two hadn’t exactly seen eye to eye when they’d first met and this certainly wasn’t about to change things. 

Brendol Hux Sr. was a traditional man to the bone, Kylo Ren had just been too loud, too artistic, and entirely too male for them to ever be close. He’d been enough of an adult to sit through the wedding with a tight lipped grimace, never speaking a positive or negative word about the whole thing but unmistakably wishing that his son would wake up one day and discover that this was some kind of prolonged phase and he was ready to marry a pretty girl and produce no fewer than ten redheaded heirs to the Hux family name. 

When the phone clicks on the other end he’s almost shocked to hear a voice other than the gruff monotone of a man who’s ready to fall back asleep standing in his kitchen, instead it’s the faintly English singsong of Mrs. Elizabeth Hux. She always was the more pleasant of the two, insisting that Kylo call her ‘mom’ and offering nothing but her sincerest wishes for their happiness together. She was the perfect housewife from every early 50’s TV show and she definitely didn’t deserve to hear what he was about to tell her. “Elizabeth, it’s Kylo.” 

“Kylo? What is it?” 

Her sleepy voice was already laced with concern and he hadn’t even gotten a word out.  
“Is something wrong? Did something happen to Brendol? Is he alright?” 

“I should have called earlier--“He wanted to apologize suddenly, apologize and hang up and never talk to her again. 

“Just tell me what happened.” She sounded close to tears, she always seemed to be close to tears whenever they spoke. 

“We can’t find Brendol-- he’s missing.” 

“What? Since when? What’s going on Kylo?” 

“I don’t know, I left this morning and-“

“This morning? He’s been gone all day and you didn’t call us?” 

Bad husband all over again. “I’m calling you now, I’ve been in the police station all day trying to-“

“Please, please just put whoever’s in charge on the phone.” 

And just like that the phone was out of his hands and into detective Phasma’s. His mother-in-law wanted to talk to a real adult. 

Calling the Hux’s is what really made it official then, the truth about Brendol was finally bleeding out into the rest of the world.


	2. Clue One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this chapter out in a timely manner was definitely not something that happened, so as an apology I lengthened this one out a little more. I'm hoping for the rest of the chapters to be around 7-10k so keep an eye out for that! My dream is to one day have a consistent upload schedule but thank you to all of those who have stuck with me so far! I promise to see this piece to completion no matter what because I honestly love this fic so much, it may take one hundred years but it will happen.
> 
> As usual a big thank you goes out to [kyluxtrashblog](http://kyluxtrashblog.tumblr.com) for beta'ing this one for me.

Rey was up and waiting for him when the squad car pulled into her driveway at 1 a.m., standing on the porch with her lips pressed into a thin line and her brow furrowing the way it did whenever she was thinking too hard about something. It didn’t exactly take a genius to guess what that ‘something’ might be considering the night he’d had. Word spreads fast in towns like these, only this time the rumor of the day isn’t about which soccer moms are feuding or which husband is sticking his dick in someone half his age.

No, today the scandal was all Brendol. He’d gotten himself right back into the limelight just like he always wanted. 

He shook the bitter thought from his head, accepting the delicate hand on his shoulder that led him away from the noise of the outside world. He also accepted the glass of whiskey shoved into his hands a few minutes later; leave it to Rey to always know exactly what he needed. That was what they’d always been good at though, telling at just a glance what the other was thinking or feeling or wanting. As kids Kylo had used it to torment her, he buried her favorite dolls in the backyard or poked holes in her bike tires; Rey would scream at him until her little face turned red and then he’d be grounded again. 

Now she just repressed a sigh and fixed sandwiches for the both of them while Kylo nursed his drink. She was nervous then, she always started snacking when she got nervous, the last thing he’d had was that lukewarm cup of coffee down at the station though, even half-stale bread was enough to tide him over without complaint by now. 

“Soooo…” She was dragging again. 

“‘So’ what?” He knew his voice was too harsh the moment he opened his mouth, Rey ignored it.

“Do you want to drive around a little? Look for him maybe?” As if Brendol had just gotten lost on his way to the store, as if he had just been taking a stroll and lost track of time. Rey hadn’t seen the house, but she couldn’t honestly think that they’d just, what, pull up to some red light and see him standing at the street corner waiting for him?

“Like that’s really going to do any good right now.” He spat the words in her direction, like maybe if he yelled at her enough Brendol would appear out of the woodworks and join in on the abuse. It wasn’t Rey’s fault, it wasn’t Rey and it wasn’t the police and it wasn’t him but at least being angry about it was something.

“This is serious Ben. Really serious you can’t just-“ she gestured vaguely towards him with both her hands, pointing frustratedly in his direction, “-do this!” 

“I know, okay?!” His fist slammed down on the countertop, shaking the half empty glass of whiskey. The silence hung heavy between them for a long moment before his shoulders slumped and his face fell, fingers uncurling as he reached for his glass again. “I know... It’s just- it’s not like there’s some sort of guide on what to do when your goddamn husband goes missing. God, this is all just so fucked up.” He found himself muttering, breathing out a heavy sigh. This wasn’t the sort of thing that happened to people like Brendol, this wasn’t the sort of thing that happened to people like him. 

He wanted to believe that he was dreaming, that he’d wake up any minute in his own bed and be back to being his usual state of miserable instead of this fucking wreck the whole thing had turned him into. 

Rey reached over, refilling his glass once, her own brand of a silent apology he supposed. “You’ve gotta be down at the station again in a few hours, no more than that.” She instructed before sitting down next to him with her sandwich. She nudged his arm lightly with her elbow, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as they ate together in silence. Tomorrow they started the search, tomorrow everything became all that much less of a joke or a dream; maybe if he hoped hard enough he’d just slip into a coma tonight and never have to deal with a single second more of this. 

“Poor Brendol.” Rey breathed. 

Yeah, poor Brendol. 

* * *

He woke the next morning with a headache that was threatening to crack his skull open at the seams, Rey’s instruction to quit while he was ahead had been ignored just like every other suggestion she’d ever made, leaving him with half a bottle of whiskey in his system by the time he’d finally managed to fall asleep. 

It hadn’t been intentional, he’d just ended up on the couch with the rest of the bottle in his hands. He’d thought it’d be a way to clear his head, to quiet the thoughts slamming around inside his brain and let him have at least a few hours of sleep. All he could see was Brendol, every time his closed his eyes it was all Brendol; ginger hair matted with blood, dragging himself across the floor, just trying to get out, trying to get away. _“Kylo Kylo Kylo”_ he’d cry out, bruises blooming across his skin, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the tiles. _“Kylo Kylo Kylo”_ over and over again until it was nearly dawn and he was too drunk to think anymore. 

Rey tossed a bottle of Ibuprofen and a water in his direction, looking like she was trying her hardest to fight back an ‘I told you so’ as he swallowed the pills and rubbed a hand over his eyes. 

“Just don’t… don’t be weird in front of the cameras.” She offered, working her way through a pack of Twizzlers as they spoke. Good to know that she was at least nervous enough for the both of them. “You do this thing sometimes when people start asking questions where you lock up, it makes you look like an asshole.” 

That’s what she was worried about, Kylo saying something stupid in front of the press and tarnishing his image. That was really the most important thing on her mind right now. “I will balance right on the edge of your emotional razor blade, happy?” It was the type of response he would normally give Brendol, the exasperated look on Rey’s face was enough to prove that she didn’t find it nearly as charming as he had. 

“Don’t be myself, got it.” he relented with a sigh, standing as they moved to the front door. There was a cop car sitting just down the street, but no uncle Chewie to hold them up with meaningless conversation this early in the morning. One of the plus sides to spending the night on the lumpy old couch that Rey refused to get rid of no matter how uncomfortable it got. 

Their ride down to the station is silent, which makes the scene unfolding inside all that much more jarring when he pushes the doors open. People are buzzing around all over the place, officers with files and interns with coffee cops all rushing to answer ringing phones or give out important orders. They all swarm around each other in perfect sync, buzzing like hornets around a pesky lawn mower. And in the center stands Mr. and Mrs. Hux, the both of them looking grim as they’re swept along the tide of questions and answers and promises of _we’re doing everything we can, sir._

For a split second he considers turning around and walking right back out, maybe burying his head in the sand would be enough for this whole thing to go away. The thought is gone as soon as Mr. Hux lays his eyes on him, storming towards him with all the intimidation a man his age can muster while he’s still got his tearful little wife clinging to his arm. Rey had disappeared somewhere, because she always seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to knowing when to avoid a situation. 

Elizabeth pulls him into a tight hug, murmuring around her sniffles that she knows how hard he must be taking all this, Mr. Hux is marginally less understanding.

“You didn’t think to call us yesterday? We were playing golf all day while my boy was missing!” He half-shouted, furious but still trying to keep his voice at an even level. Kylo opened his mouth to say something, maybe to apologize, maybe to tell the old man to fuck off, it doesn’t seem to matter to Mr. Hux though as he continues his quiet tirade. “I _knew_ you never should have moved back here.”

 _Because we really had that much of a choice._ He wanted to say it, maybe just to see Mr. Hux deflate a little, but Elizabeth was already speaking over the both of them; good to know Brendol really did take after his parents. 

“Now we are all worried and we are all scared,” she said, rubbing Kylo’s arm in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. “But we are all here and we are going to find Brendol, together.” 

With that she began to usher the both of them into a small conference room, the place packed just tight enough with reporters to make him feel caged in and claustrophobic. As soon as they stepped inside the cameras started to go off, everyone scrambling to get a good picture of the distraught family standing next to a blown up poster of Brendol. 

Kylo couldn’t be sure where they’d found a picture like that of Brendol, but there he was; his ginger hair was slicked back but his tie hung loose against the pale column of his throat, he looked right into the camera, right _through_ the camera with those sparkling green eyes that seemed to follow him with every step he took. In the photo he was smiling, perfect white teeth parted as he laughed over some long forgotten joke; he was younger, and even more handsome than Kylo could remember him being in a long time. 

“Not a bad turnout.” One PR asshole muttered to another before nudging Kylo and the Hux’s forward a bit more, putting them in direct firing range of the cameras. Showtime. 

His words felt like sludge on his tongue, and each flash of a camera sent his headache thudding against the side of his skull like a heartbeat. He felt slow and awkward as he spoke, half mumbling Brendol’s name and asking for any information that might be out there. He’d listen to the report later and barely recognize himself, body still and rigid in front of Brendol’s grieving parents as he spoke his words like he was reading them off a teleprompter. What else was he supposed to say though? ‘If you’re the one who took him, good luck keeping him’? Or maybe even ‘sorry, you grabbed the wrong person. I’m sure you’ve figured that out already though, feel free to drop him off before he starts driving you up the wall’. 

Too dark. You didn’t even need half a brain to know that those were way too dark to say to anyone, maybe even Rey. 

So instead of speaking he just stands there, looking bored while Mr. and Mrs. Hux go on and on about their brilliant Brendol and what a good, loving son and husband he is. They mention that they’ve got a volunteer center set up at one of the local hotels and there’s a tip line already running. They’ve been in the state for all of five hours and they’ve already done more for the search than Kylo. If Brendol could see this circus show he’d be cackling and telling everyone that they shouldn’t be surprised, this was Kylo they were talking about after all. You couldn’t trust the bad husband to ever get anything done himself.

Elizabeth Hux cried in front of the cameras while her son in-law stood, stiff and angry, next to a picture of his missing husband. 

* * *

##### JOURNAL ENTRY

_Marriage is hard work._

_That’s what they all like the say, isn’t it? Marriage is hard work and sacrifice and compromise; oh God do they **love** to talk about compromise. If we’re being honest though, I think whoever ‘they’ are must be divorced, and unhappily so, if they’re going around acting like every decision in a marriage is nothing but settling for something neither of you like but have decided to tolerate for the others sake. _

_They have yet to meet Kylo._

_It almost feels like I’m bragging some days when I talk about him, somehow we have become the type of couple that I used to despise; the disgustingly happy kind. Surely we pass by strangers as we walk and they can’t help but hate us, can’t help but wonder how we of all people have managed to make things work so well. It’s horrifying really, I should be sick just thinking about it but I’m too busy being my disgustingly happy self to care._

_Kylo burns like a 4th of July forest fire, bright, loud, and beautiful against a sky filled with sound and color. I’ve never felt connected to someone the way I am with him, we’re such different people on the outside that it’s hard to imagine we could ever find **any** common ground between us. Yet, somehow, when he speaks it’s as if my own thoughts are echoing back. We understand each other, we respect each other, and we know each other so well that for as much as we love to fight each other, it’s never with words that could ever leave lasting marks. And the sex isn’t bad either. _

_That’s why we will never need to control each other the way some married couples do, I don’t need him at my every beck and call because I know he’ll be back home tonight, in our little corner of the world, waiting for me when I return. When I say that I don’t care if he goes out drinking with his friends I mean that I **don’t care.** And when I do the same I’m never met with more than a shrug and a “have fun” tossed over his shoulder. I’m not an idiot after all, if I’d wanted a dog on a leash I would have adopted instead of married. _

_I’m supposed to be keeping this one brief though, and I think I’ve waxed poetic about how much better we are than everyone else for long enough to make anyone roll their eyes and call me a narcissist. Tonight after all, is a very important night, a night that I’ve been planning for months to insure that everything turns out just right._

_Tonight Kylo and I will have been married for two years exactly._

_I’ve set everything up exactly, dinner is prepped so that all it will take is a quick few minutes on heat and my treasure hunt is ready to be won. I had to make it more difficult this year of course, last year’s search was over almost as soon as it had begun. That’s the trouble with having a husband that is so much cleverer than he looks, I **know** this and still I managed to underestimate him. It did get the both of us into bed all the quicker though, that was certainly something I had no complaints about. _

_This year is going to be even better, I’m certain that he’ll be able to outsmart me eventually, but it wouldn’t hurt to see him struggle for just a split-second on some of them. Besides, it’s not as if I set up the hunt with the intention of him losing, the scales are very much tipped in his favor for once. Now all I need is for him to get home, and the game can begin._

* * *

The cameras continued their assault as they made their way out of the conference room and back into the hallway, Phasma was on him almost as soon as the doors were closed. “Do you have a minute? There’s something we want you to see.” She asked, proper and curt in a way that made it sound very little like an actual request. It’s the tone of a person who’s used to just telling people what to do and then having it done without backtalk. Probably suits a detective well, even if it automatically makes Kylo want to cross his arms over his chest and refuse like some kind of petulant child. 

Instead he followed her into another small office not unlike the one they’d stuck him in when he first went in for questioning. Only this time, a large silver box sat on the middle of the table, looking completely out of place with its expertly tied ribbon streaming over the edge of the water stained wood. 

“Go ahead, look at it.” Phasma prompted, nodding towards the box. Kylo reached forward, carefully brushing the ribbon aside and pulling the top off like he was disarming a bomb. Inside sat a small, creamy white envelope marked FIRST CLUE in Brendol’s crisp handwriting. 

“Imagine our surprise: a missing person’s case and we find a note labelled ‘First Clue’ hidden in with his things.”

“It’s part of the treasure hunt that he-“

“For your anniversary, your in-law’s already told us.” 

Kylo took the envelope, pulling out the neatly folded stationery inside with the same excitement one might have about handling roadkill. This was the game they played every year, Brendol designed a whole treasure hunt around telling him what a terrible and lazy husband he was and Kylo proved him right by not being able to solve it. He really didn’t need another reason for detective Phasma and the rest of the police station to hate him, but he still unfolded the note anyways. 

_Picture me, a new stranger in town_  
_And you, the local, know the best spot around_  
_A piece of New York, a place to be free_  
_Your home not so far away from me_  
_Let’s play pretend, give me a shot_  
_I’ll give back as good as I got._  


The note was Brendol this year, it was what he’d found important, what he’d remembered, everything that made him tick all wrapped up in a pretty little bow. If things were normal he would have sat the present out on the counter, then sipped away at his breakfast tea and pretend he wasn’t getting his hopes up. Know me he’d beg with his eyes, never once daring to actually breathe the words aloud. No, he’d just sit and wait, humming with anticipation as Kylo read the note a second, and then a third time to make sure he’d picked up every little clue that Brendol had sprinkled in. Then, he’d open his mouth and Brendol would try not to practically glow with pride when Kylo looked at him and said:  
“I know this one. The next clue is down at The Bar.” 

Brendol had gone easy on him this year, Kylo hadn’t figured out a note this fast since their first anniversary. Apparently Brendol had given up on him ever completing one again unless he dumbed down the clues. 

“Let’s go and get it then.” Phasma said, fishing her keys from her suit jacket. 

“You really think these are important?” How could they be? Unless the department had nothing else to go on. 

“If they show me where he’s been the past day or so then yes.” She plucked the first letter from his hands, packing it away in a small plastic evidence bag. “My wife and I usually just go out to dinner, this is all very nice though. Are you going to need a ride over?”

He shook his head, gesturing back towards the parking lot where Rey was most likely waiting for him. “I’ll meet you there.” He said, already backing towards the door as the words on the note rattled around in his head. When had Brendol gotten to The Bar without him there? He and Rey were the only ones with keys so he couldn’t have just walked in without one of them noticing. It was hard to imagine that he would trust Rey enough with the treasure hunt clues when he barely even trusted her with their good china. That had been the reason he’d never put a clue in The Bar before, right? Why change things now? And why hadn’t Rey told him she’d seen Brendol the day before? 

He should have asked her when he went to grab her keys, or he should have told her to come with them and questioned her on the car ride over. Instead he got into her beat up little Toyota and silently stewed the whole time. They would have to give his car back eventually, it wasn’t like they were going to find anything inside of it anyways.

Detective Phasma pulled into the parking lot seconds after he got to the door, watching him fumble with his keys for a long moment before he invited her inside, flicking on lights as he went. So Brendol had been here, and he’d laid out a clue somewhere inconspicuous enough that the owner wouldn’t be able to find it at a first glance. Guess that meant there wasn’t a note waiting somewhere at the bottom of a bottle, shame, that would have made a better anniversary present then the one he’d gotten last year. 

Kylo reached down, running his fingers against the bottom of the barstools. Whenever the notes were in a public place Brendol taped them to the underside of something, he’d said once that it was because he enjoyed the view when Kylo leaned over; in recent years it had started to feel more like he enjoyed it because Kylo had to bend himself in half whenever he went looking for things, that came about as close to bending over backwards as Brendol expected he would get. 

There it was, another pearly white envelope taped under the barstool he’d sat at yesterday, drinking and complaining about having to go home and celebrate his anniversary with his husband. Brendol really did have a fucked up sense of humor. Phasma bagged the envelope as soon as he’d opened up, watching him unfold their second clue with well-hidden impatience. 

_Come on stranger, steal me away_  
_We’ve got another game to play_  
_Take me to the stars, send me right up to space_  
_Then we’ll disappear without a trace_  
_We’ll pretend, just you and I_  
_That it’s worse to fight than it is to fly._  


“We’re hardly in the planetarium capital of the world here, any idea what he might be referring to?” Phasma asked, snatching the note from him once again and placing it into an evidence bag. Did she really think he was stupid enough to rip the thing up by accident? It wasn’t like it really mattered though, Brendol was going easy on him, he had finally admitted defeat and was taking pity on him by making this year’s treasure hunt simple. 

Which is exactly why Kylo shook his head and pulled on a convincing frown. This didn’t make sense, Brendol did not accept anything less than perfection, he did not backtrack and take pity on those who couldn’t move as quickly as him. Every year the hunt got more complex, and every year Kylo fell a little further behind in solving them, it had become as much of a tradition as the damn search itself. 

Something was wrong. And Kylo wasn’t about to step blindly into whatever Brendol had set up for him with a detective at his heels. 

* * *

##### JOURNAL ENTRY

_I’m not angry, just drunk._

_At least that is what I am going to continue telling myself as drink our anniversary wine directly from the bottle and pretend I know if live lobster can be kept overnight. I could be both angry and drunk of course, but I find it much easier to blame the bottle in my hand than the man who should be sharing it with me._

_I shouldn’t be angry, I know I shouldn’t. I’m being childish and immature, it’s a good thing when the head of the company wants to take you under his wing for a night or two of training, and it will mean so much for his career._

_And yet here I am, drunk and unhappy and trying not to call my parents to ask about the lobsters. I know what will happen if I do, they’ll question why our anniversary dinner hasn’t been eaten and I, drunk and unhappy as I am, will be unable to stop myself from letting the truth of the evening spill out from over my lips. I’ll refuse to cry about it, but they’ll know that I want to, and then Kylo will return home, and his good mood will be soured when he realizes that I’m telling my parents that he is anything less than the perfect husband._

_Maybe it’s not even about him skipping our anniversary to go out drinking with his boss who has just spent the afternoon laying off nearly a fourth of Kylo’s department. Maybe it has less to do with the fact that he’s abandoned me and more that he seems to have completely forgotten about the date altogether._

_He calls me an hour late, tongue already loosened with vodka and words muddled by voices in the background. He doesn’t apologize, doesn’t ask me if it’s alright that he skip the one holiday a year that I can actually tolerate; he just tells me “A great opportunity came up, I’m the only one in the department that got invited to this Brendol.”_

_That’s the thing, he tells me this like he’s already frustrated with me, like he knew what my reaction would be as soon as he dialed the phone. I want to be selfish for just a second, I want to ask him “but what about our night?” I want him to guiltily tell his friends and coworkers that he can’t make it because he’s got a nagging spouse waiting for him but I want him to come home anyways. They’d understand I’m sure, they’ve all got nagging spouses of their own waiting for them._

_But we agreed we wouldn’t do that. I don’t get to be upset because he already made me promise that it wouldn’t be that type of marriage._

_So I smile through my clenched teeth, pop open the wine bottle, and tell him that I don’t care. I lie to my husband with the hope that he’ll see right through me and come home anyways, instead he pulls his face away from the phone to laugh at a joke that someone else has told, tells me that he’ll be home late, and hangs up._

_It is 3 a.m., I’m drunk on the couch, and I can hear him fumbling with his keys outside the door._

_I’m not going to be angry, I’ve told myself that a thousand and one times tonight, I told him that it was fine, I can’t punish him for something that I gave him permission to do, I’m not going to make it that kind of marriage._

_“How was it?” I ask, trying to sound positive. I’m not angry, I’m not angry, I’m not angry._

_“How do you think it was? A bunch of guys kissing ass and hoping they won’t be the next ones up on the chopping block.”_

_Drunk me wants to ask what he was doing there if he wasn’t kissing ass and hoping he won’t be the next on the chopping block._

_“Happy day after anniversary.” I try instead._

_“Don’t try and guilt trip me the second I’ve walked in the door, I’m really not in the mood for it.” He moves into the kitchen, I hear the liquor cabinet slam open and closed. He’s really pouring himself a drink after coming home smelling like a goddamn bar._

_“I was just saying-“  
“You were just saying that I’m a shitty husband for abandoning you on your big day.”_

_Suddenly I am the bad guy, I’m the shrewd and awful husband who never lets his poor spouse have a moment to breathe. God forbid he ever claim a single spec of responsibility for himself, God forbid he actually apologize for something without me having to twist his ear to do it. If I were in a better mood right now I might joke that Kylo couldn’t even get out of growing up to marry his mother by marrying a man._

_I am going to play the moderator, I’m going to give up ground and put this aside for another day when we’re both less inebriated; we’re not going to go to bed angry at each other. “Things are going to be fine, I know you’re worried about your job but-“_

_“Maybe things will be fine for you, some of us don’t have a trust fund just sitting in the bank.” He spits the words at me from around his glass of whiskey. And now I know what this fight is really about, he’s been drinking and he’s upset about the trust fund. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell him that it’s our money, he still thinks that the prenup means I don’t trust him. I’m at the end of my rope, I’m tired and drunk and maybe, just maybe, I’m a little bit angry._

_“Don’t speak to me that way.”_

_“Fuck you, Brendol.”_

_He slams the door to our bedroom. I spend the night on the couch. We don’t apologize, but in the morning he kisses me on the cheek, makes me breakfast, and doesn’t mention the two lobsters in the fridge._

* * *

The ride back to the station is silent, Kylo can’t bring himself to turn on the radio when he knows all they’ll be talking about is Brendol, big news was hard to come by in towns like these and a kidnapping? Well that was about as big as you could get.

 _Aside from murder._ His intrusive thoughts supplied oh so helpfully, pushing his dreams from last night to the forefront of his mind all over again. 

Sitting down with Elizabeth, Mr. Hux, and detective Phasma in that same office room from earlier is decidedly less quiet. Phasma’s shiny silver recorder sat in the center of the table, replacing the box and its beautiful ribbon that had long been sent down as evidence by now. Mr. Hux clasps one large hand over his wife’s dainty fingers, sure and strong and protective, the way a husband is meant to be when tragedy strikes. 

But this isn’t a tragedy yet, not yet, Brendol could still be fine, he could turn up any minute now with an overdramatic retelling of car troubles that suddenly makes everyone feel guilty for worrying so much. They’ll be the ones apologizing to him because that’s what Brendol does best, he twists things around and around until they bend into the exact shape he desires. 

“-Is there someone from his past that might have wanted to take him? An ex or an old coworker? Maybe a friend he had a falling out with?” Kylo snapped from his thoughts just soon enough to catch the end of her question. 

“Well Brendol has had a few… admirers in the past, people who read the books and believed that they knew him. The last one was at least ten years ago though.” Mr. Hux offers. “That was Andrea Youngblood. She was obsessive, she’d follow him wherever he went, even going so far as to stand outside our home for hours on end. We had to file a restraining order to get him away from her.” 

“We’ll look into Andrea’s whereabouts, is there anything more recent that we should look at?” 

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Now the attention was on him, three pairs of eyes bored into his skull, silently begging him for something to go off of. That had to be a bad sign, if they had any idea what they were doing they would have had some kind of lead by now, wouldn’t they? He wouldn’t be back in this cramped little office again listing off the names of anyone who might have looked at Brendol wrong sometime in the past ten years. 

That wasn’t helpful though, he needed to say something helpful for once in his life.

“He still gets a letter every year from Dopheld Mitaka.” Kylo remembered them because every time Brendol would see the name, scoff, then throw the letter immediately into the garbage without reading it. 

Phasma leaned forward when Elizabeth stiffened, interest piqued. “And who is that?” 

“A college acquaintance.”  
“His ex-boyfriend.” 

Apparently Mr. Hux had a different idea about what the relationship was, either that, or he didn’t want to admit that his son dated men while sitting across from his husband. 

“They attended Columbia together, they only dated for a year but from what he told me it was very serious.” Elizabeth stepped in, always ready to deescalate an argument. “When they broke up he refused to accept it, Brendol changed his phone number, he moved out of the dorms, and still that boy pursued him relentlessly. He got into Brendol’s apartment one night and attempted suicide, Brendol was so shaken by it all that he couldn’t bring himself to come back the next semester.” 

“This has been very helpful, we’ll see if we can find a current address for Mr. Mitaka and go from there.” Phasma insured, collecting her recorder from the table. 

Kylo had seen the return address on those letters, Dopheld Mitaka was barely two hours away from them, the police would center in on that for sure. It wouldn’t matter that Brendol had only ever described Dopheld with words like “passive at best”, Mitaka was currently the closest thing they had to a suspect. 

Other than him, that was. Never too late to rule out the husband. 

* * *

##### JOURNAL ENTRY

_Brilliant Brendol and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day._

_See? I’m ready to write a book of my own now, based entirely off of my current life just like the rest of them. It’ll be a real hit with the kids, they get to learn fun new vocabulary words like “unemployment” and “bankruptcy” while listening to Brendol tell them about the importance of investing wisely should you and your spouse end up with matching layoffs just in time for Christmas. _

_It seems that Kylo has finally fallen out of favor with his boss, as the second round of layoffs (because whoops! They didn’t fire enough people the first time!) leaves him blocking out the world with heavy curtains and lounging on the couch with the classifieds laying half buried under a small mountain of takeout boxes. He’s always been the type who thrives with organized chaos and I’ve accepted that to a certain degree, now though? Now our living room is beginning to resemble a landfill more than anything and he just doesn’t seem to care._

_I know that being laid off is hard, and I know that he’s working through things on his own time, but it feels some days like he isn’t even trying. That could just be the busy part of me talking though, the part that wants to throw open the blinds and spend the day scrubbing over every inch of the place until it sparkles, at least then I’ve accomplished something by the time it’s 5 p.m. and it’s socially acceptable to drink._

_I lose my job a week after he does, and while I can’t say I’ll miss the work, I’m certainly missing the income. When I tell Kylo he does little more than affix me with a grimace that feels like it should be directed towards a stray pile of Millicent’s vomit and not at his husband. “Well it’s not like you really need a job anyways, you’ve got money.”_

_That’s what this is about, that’s what it’s always about recently._

_“It’s not just my money, you know that.”_

_He heaves a long sigh and turns back to the television. “Sure Brendol, just keep telling yourself that.”_

_A few days later I’m greeted by bags and boxes all stuffed to the brim. In one there’s a finely designed suit, already wrinkling and brushed with orange fur from where Millicent has been laying on it. Another holds a laptop, brand new and spouting the price tag like it was purposefully stuck there just to mock me. And there’s Kylo camping on the couch, swearing at some new game and looking very much like he is the eye of this messy storm._

_“What’s this?” My voice pitches too high, obnoxiously so, now there’s no way to pretend that I’m not frustrated. Kylo merely shrugs, eyes trained on the screen in front of him the whole time._

_“Work stuff. Can’t get a job if it looks like I can’t even dress myself.”_

_He left it on the floor, he left it on the fucking floor. I want to scream the words at him, as if that will finally be the thing that gets them through his thick skull. I’m furious and that has to be the point, he’s doing it to get back at me, he wants to turn me into the villain because at least then he has someone other than himself to blame.  
“You’re spending a lot recently.” _

_That gets his attention, game pausing so he can glare up at me properly from behind his mountain of old takeout. “What, you’re saying you don’t trust me with your money?”_

_“I’m **saying** that you’re spending a lot recently, we need to cut back until the both of us are working again.” _

_Kylo heaves a long sigh, head hanging back over the couch, He runs his fingers through his tangled hair, taking a moment to do something other than be angry at me. “I know, I know. I’ll figure something out.” He promises, I place a hand against his shoulder, rubbing at the tenseness there. “We’ll figure something out.” And for a minute everything feels like it might just be alright, we’ve got the trust fund to fall back on for a few months, we’ll find a way to make this work._

_Then two days later the phone rings, my father needs to speak to me. He says it in that faux-casual, reluctant sort of way that lets me know something very bad is about to happen. It’s cancer, it has to be cancer, it’s always cancer with these types of calls. He huffs out his words, he needs help but he’s got enough pride left not to flat out make a request; I can admire that about him at least. There’s my father, shoulders squared and arms crossed as he calls his son up to ask for money. They’ve been living like they were still making the money they’d had decades ago, they kept telling themselves that the next Brendol book would be enough to give it all back, they invested when they shouldn’t have, foolishly, quickly, like it was going out of style._

_My father spends the next hour detailing every financial mistake he’s made, telling me that mother doesn’t even know exactly how bad it is. My childhood home is in jeopardy, and my current home even more so; everything is threatening to go under at once. My father curses those lawyers’ names because if he’s angry at them then at least he’s got someone other than himself to blame. It’s only after that does he explain why he’s called, he needs my trust fund, almost all the money inside of it, to keep them afloat. I have to give it to them, it’s their money of course I had to, it wasn’t even something worth considering._

_I spend the next hour locked in a screaming match with Kylo, to him this is proof, proof that I don’t trust him enough to make a single financial decision, proof that it was really my money all along. He expects me to just leave my parents to fend for themselves, he honestly wanted to “consider the goddamn options” (his words, not mine) when it comes to my parents’ financial troubles. He refuses to understand, he didn’t hear the tremor in my father’s voice as he told me this, he doesn’t want to see just how dire the situation really is. I wire them the money, almost everything we have to our name, and we spend the next three days not speaking a single word to each other._

_One week later Rey calls, each word she speaks punctuated with a small, broken sob. Kylo spends what feels like hours on the phone, I hear him pacing back and forth across the apartment from my hiding spot in the bedroom. The quiet thud of his feet against the wooden floors echoes somewhere inside my chest, sending my heart sinking lower with every step. When he finally pushes open the door I notice the unshed tears in his eyes, he is about to tell me exactly what I’ve been fearing from the very first ring._

_His mother has cancer._

_I missed it by a week, I should feel guilty that that is the first coherent thought popping into my head. I should feel even worse that when he crawls into bed and wraps his arms around me instead of retreating back to the couch, all I feel is relief. That was all it took for him to stop hating me, one dying mother. I wrap my arms around him and I am just so horrifyingly relieved that he’s letting me in, I almost forget the reason behind it for a moment._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr right over [here](http://www.not-safe-in-space.tumblr.com).
> 
> Chapter 2 is currently in the works. We're lookin' at the long haul here folks.


End file.
